


Ten Moments

by burninglikeabridge



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:30:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burninglikeabridge/pseuds/burninglikeabridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were ten distinctive moments when Sherlock Holmes realized he was in love with John Watson. <br/>(Just fluff moments in the relationship of John and Sherlock.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Moments

There were countless moments when Sherlock Holmes realized how much he loved John Watson.   
Hundreds, thousands of moments that made his heart skip beats, made his breathing stutter. Not that he'd admit that out loud. Oh no, those were such human weaknesses. Sherlock preferred not to attatch himself to them.   
But with John, he couldn't help himself. For John, he'd do anything.   
But right now, he was remembering the ten most important moments.   
They were now in one of the strangest relationships either of them could imagine. But it was more than perfect; they shared one bedroom in the flat now. They slept in the same bed, when they slept at all. Or some nights they fell asleep on the couch, a tangle of arms and legs that should've been uncomfortable. But it wasn't. They sometimes held hands. Sherlock smiled more and there were lots of unnessecary kisses. Not that Sherlock was complaining.   
Sherlock loved John.   
He knew it now, but he hadn't always been so certain.   
He sat in the flat now, arms around John while he watched a dull movie. Sherlock found the television to be less than adequate, but sitting like this, John's hands clinging to his and his chin resting perfectly on John's head, that was more than enough to keep him happy.   
He thought of the moments that had made him realize his feelings.   
(One... )  
The first time they'd been in the taxi.   
Sherlock's heart fluttered at the memory.   
Before that point, he had disregarded John almost entirely. He was aesthetically pleasing and easy on the eyes, he supposed. He noticed that John was good looking, but Sherlock wasn't the type to base much of anything on a person's attractiveness.   
Until John asked about Sherlock's deductions. Sherlock swiftly explained, feeling the same hollow satisfaction of being correct that he always did. He was used to it.  
But the look on John's face, the blatant appreciation and admiration- no, that was not something Sherlock was used to.   
People didn't appreciate him or his mind. But this person was.   
And then the words 'amazing' and 'incredible' left John's lips, and Sherlock felt something in himself change as he looked at John.  
Maybe he was a sucker for those good looks after all.   
(Two.... )  
Sherlock followed John back to the spot by the train tracks, where he said he'd seen the writing.  
John looked so crushed, so shocked. The writing was gone.   
And in those emotions Sherlock saw a vulnerability for just a second, as John's guard let down.  
There was something real and raw in his eyes, fear that Sherlock wouldn't believe him. Fear that Sherlock would reject him.   
Sherlock had never in his life wanted to touch a person this badly. His hands were shaking just slightly.   
Sherlock took the opportunity to touch him, gloved hands on the sides of John's face.   
It wasn't the contact he was hoping for, but it was enough to feel John's warmth through the gloves, to be this close.   
He saw something different in John.   
Oh, how Sherlock loved something different.   
(Three.... )   
The first real time John smiled at him.  
Back at the flat, walking in breathless after a case.  
Sherlock was breathless for another reason entirely. Watching John's chest heave, watching him gasp for air. It stirred desires in Sherlock that he wasn't even aware he could feel.   
And then he'd turned his head to Sherlock, and smiled. The most genuine, beautiful smile Sherlock had ever seen.  
It took him a long time to catch his breath then.   
(Four... )   
When John had brought home news of yet another date.   
He was wearing a jumper like always, but nicer shoes and maybe a haircut.   
Sherlock already knew what was happening before John told him.  
Sherlock didn't approve.   
Sherlock's disapproval must have been written on hia face, because John grew defensive.   
'She's a nice woman.' He said.   
The woman in question was not the problem, Sherlock thought. The problem is, she's not me.   
Jealousy, he realized. That is this unsettling feeling in my chest.   
To imagine some stranger being with John, touching him, laughing at his horrible jokes, kissing him, seeing him smile. It made Sherlock feel ill.   
He wanted to be on a date with John. He wanted to be touching him. He wanted to kiss John.   
Jealousy, he later came to realize. Only happens when you love someone.   
(Five.... )   
More girlfriends. And oh so much more jealousy.   
John has a date.   
Sherlock shoots holes into the wall at 221 Baker St.  
He has too much thinking time, and he begins to realize that John is growing on him. Not like a rash or a disease. Like more of a pleasant surprise.   
And growing, that would be an understatement. Sherlock was becoming consumed with him.  
John arrives at the flat.   
John is angry.   
So is Sherlock.  
Their reasons are very different.   
(Six... )   
Sherlock decided to tell John he hated all his girlfriends.  
The conversation went about as well as one could expect at first.  
'Why!' John huffed. Silly, that he believed Sherlock was content with him dating countless, nameless women. Of course he wasn't. As a friend-strictly friends- he didn't think it was... Good.   
Sherlock told himself that it was the friendly thing to do.  
'They're all brainless.' Sherlock waved his hand. He sat on the couch while John was pacing angrily around the flat.   
'Ha!' John laughed sharply. 'As if anyone could be as brilliant as you. If only.' John looked down.   
'What are you implying?' Sherlock had missed it. For once, he had missed John's true meaning.   
'I'm implying that I'm dating people I have no interest in.'   
Sherlock faintly noted that John had made the point to say 'people' and not 'women'.   
'What?' Sherlock had assumed that John at least found the women attractive, or maybe even a bit interesting. Why would he bother if he didn't care for them at all?   
'For a genius, you can be a bloody idiot sometimes.'   
John stopped pacing, and stepped in front of Sherlock. His hands were shaking, Sherlock noticed.  
He looked close to terrified.   
Sherlock felt his world shift into focus in that moment.   
It was him. It was this average, but anything but, ex-army doctor that he loved.   
John.   
(Seven..... )   
This moment was consecutively after moment number six.   
Sherlock remembered this night distinctly.  
It was the first time he ever kissed John Watson.   
John placed one shaking hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Though it took all of his courage, he looked straight into Sherlock's icy blue eyes as he spoke.  
'Those women aren't the ones I'm interested in.'   
Sherlock lost all ability to speak.  
Up until that point, he hadn't thought that was possibly. But here he was, his tongue a dead weight in his mouth and his words jammed in his throat.   
'But you... You're not gay.' Was all Sherlock could manage.   
John threw up his hands, taking a step back.  
'Sherlock! Would you please stop restating the obvious here? No, I'm not gay. That isn't what I'm trying to tell you. Listen.'   
Sherlock felt his heart drop. He'd clearly misinterpreted John's meaning.   
But.. He'd been so certain before. What else could John mean?   
'Don't look like that.' John said suddenly. 'It's almost... Like you're sad.' John's voice cracked slightly.  
'What I'm trying to tell you is, no, I'm not gay.' John sighed. 'But you, Sherlock. For you. Oh, Christ. There's something about you and I just-'   
John didn't get to finish the rest of his sentence. Sherlock often wondered what he would've said, but then realized that the sentence was interrupted for a damn good reason.   
Sherlock had stood, gripped John by the shoulders and crushed their mouths together before either of them could change their minds.   
Sherlock realized he wasn't sure what he was doing. John, however, was.   
It took John a moment to react, and they had to readjust slightly so that their mouths fit together.   
John's hands found their way to Sherlock's shoulder and his hair.   
It was a bit awkward, the height difference, Sherlock attempting to slide his hands to John's waist without breaking away.   
It was perfect because it wasn't perfect.   
(Eight..... )   
It was the day that Sherlock decided to show John what he'd meant by that kiss.  
After the kiss, they'd separated from each other and John had gone to bed. They didn't say much of anything, and Sherlock stayed awake thinking about it all night.   
He wondered if John had done the same.   
Two days passed, not a word about that night.  
Sherlock was beginning to wonder if he'd imagined it. But no- there was no way that his brain, even as brilliant as it was, could imagine the feel of John's mouth, of John's hands, of John.   
So it was at a crime scene, that next night, that Sherlock knew what he had to do.   
A police officer turned around, walking away from them. Sherlock had just told him everything he needed to know.  
John was carrying on about something, but Sherlock was thinking.   
Then, without warning, he reached down and grabbed John's hand. He slowly laced their fingers together, giving John a chance to pull away. He didn't; he gripped Sherlock's hand.   
Sherlock expected questions, things he wasn't sure he could answer just yet.   
All he knew was this felt right, and he wanted nothing else but John.  
But instead of asking questions, John said nothing.   
John slowly looked up at him and smiled.   
That's what made Sherlock decide, after all this debating and wondering and confusion.   
Sherlock decided that he loved him.   
(Nine... )   
The night after that.   
Sherlock's mind wasn't quite as sharp on the memories now.   
Not because he didn't care for them, but it was that John made his mind blurry, made it harder to overthink. John brought him into the present, made it so that all he could see was John, all he could think was John.   
That night, John had kissed him against the closed door of their flat, tugging urgently at Sherlock's coat.   
Sherlock had kissed him back, almost feverently. Afraid to lose the moment, afraid that John would move away.   
He catalogued every touch in his mind.   
Up until the moment when John pulled him by his shirt towards the bedroom.  
His mind became incapable of cataloging.   
(Ten.... )   
Three small words had never meant a thing to Sherlock before.  
It was a chemical defect, a weakness in the brain. Far too human of an emotion.  
To confess something like that was to blatantly confess your weakness. It was to blatantly say that you value another human's life over your own, that you'd rather die than see them leave you alone.  
Alone was what Sherlock had. It protected him.  
But he wasn't alone anymore.   
And now those three words meant everything.  
John was his world. John was perfect, down to every detail in Sherlock's mind.   
He understood now.  
He's gladly lie down and take all the pain in the world if it meant John's happiness and well being.   
He'd kill for John. He'd die for him.  
Because of that one human defect.   
Sherlock doesn't say any of this aloud, while he runs his fingers through John's hair, whose head is laying on his chest.   
Instead, he says something much simpler.   
'I love you.' Sherlock's voice was less calm than he'd meant it to be; he sounded almost fierce when saying it, as if he was declaring his ownership of John.   
In a way, he was making his claim on John. No one else could touch him, kiss him, or tell him these things.   
John belonged to Sherlock. But then, Sherlock belonged to John as well. Sherlock wasn't sure if that's what John wanted, but he could have him if he did.   
Their life wasn't the easiest, and this relationship wouldn't be the simplest either, but Sherlock wanted it.   
John could have anything Sherlock could give him.  
If he'd just stay with Sherlock.   
John's grip on Sherlock's fingers tightened, as if to show that he had no intention of leaving. Sherlock heard him gasp, a tiny, shaky sound.   
'You mean that?' John twisted around to look up at Sherlock, his eyes full of hope but also fear.  
'Of course.' Sherlock said simply, and he felt that he'd never said anything so honest in his life.  
'I love you too.' John said quickly, and Sherlock couldn't stop himself from smiling at John's excitement.   
Sherlock kissed him softly and then John laid his head down again.  
'You know something?' John asked, absentmindedly tracing patterns on the back of Sherlock's hand with his finger.   
'Hm?' Sherlock felt warm and pleasant.   
John loved him back.  
Everything was exactly how it was supposed to be.   
'I've wanted to hear you say those words since I met you.' John admitted.  
Sherlock was surprised. He hadn't realized how long John had been feeling this way. He also realized that he'd just started to come to terms with it himself.  
But he'd ached to feel this way since meeting John, he'd wanted this affection, this love.   
John was the only person to make him feel this way.   
'And I've wanted to say them since I met you.' He replied.   
And it was true. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm brand new to Archive but I've been writing on other sites for a long time, so Comments are really appreciated. And requests as well.  
> Thanks for reading :)


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